


Welcome to the Limgdom

by baruffio



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Background Other Buzzfeed Employees, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Ryan Bergara Being an Idiot, and we don't have enough lim puns in this fandom, but it cracks me up every time, improper use of libraries, look I objectively realize that Limgdom is a terrible name for a kingdom, ryan phrasing things awkwardly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29803926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baruffio/pseuds/baruffio
Summary: Ryan is a highly acclaimed knight with a tendency to do ample research whenever the knights are fighting a new monster. Madej is the utterly obnoxious court historian who keeps harassing Ryan while he's working.==============================================“No, absolutely not,” Madej says. “I refuse to listen to you calling poetry a source. Yes, this entire theory is shit, but at poetry, I draw the line. What’s your next theory?”
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 13
Kudos: 26





	Welcome to the Limgdom

**Author's Note:**

> I'd been building this headcanon for about a month before I saw  
> Golden4278 and mightbeashaniac's "The Place Where We Meet". At first, I was like, "Sweet, we got medieval boys, we're good!" but then I was like "WE NEED MORE MEDIEVAL BOYS."

Ryan has, throughout his three years of service, been an absolute fount of knowledge. Who knew how to defeat the Belle of the Wych Elm? Who knew where to find the antidote for the Isdal venom? Who had an encyclopedic knowledge of innkeepers with the queen’s favor? Ryan-Christ’s blood-Bergara, that’s who.

So it only makes sense that, when confronted with the latest series of killings, the elder knights had sought out Ryan to make sense of it all. But in this particular instance, Ryan hasn’t the first idea. What manner of creature would take exclusively livers, and with such focused precision? There is only one place that could hold such an answer, and it is Ryan’s terrible misfortune it is guarded by the foulest beast known to man. But there are lives at stake, so Ryan approaches the Hall of Records, hand on pommel, silent as the night.

He breaches the Hall of Records with nary an indication that his presence has been accounted and tiptoes full-speed down to the familiar shelves detailing the monster encounters of legend. The majority of his childhood had been spent down here, helping his mother, the then-Court-Historian, carry and sort documents. He’d loved it. Fine details always had a funny way of lodging themselves into his mind, waiting to be awoken by overhearing that a visiting noblewoman burst into flame while in her chambers, or by Captain LeBlanc saying they really ought to figure out how to stop the local Mothman from abducting babes. Ryan likes having an answer; if not an answer, then a theory; if not a theory, then an opinion.

Ryan runs his fingers over the tomes, lingering a little longer over his favorite titles, before moving on. His answer will be in a book he hasn’t yet opened, but the question remains: which one? Is this a creature from far away lands? Is it one who has dwelled among them this whole time, but only now had its appetite awakened? Or, perhaps, is it some manner of flora or toxin affecting a regular man, driving him to carve up his countrymen and feast on their organs?

“Bergoogoo! Looking for a good read?” 

Ryan shrieks and trips. He manages to catch himself on the shelving before he can hit the ground. With all the dignity he can muster, he restores himself to his full height so that he can glower up--but significantly less up than before!--at the vile creature that has overtaken this section of the library. “I’m doing research.”

“Research?” Madej repeats blankly. “But you’re in the fiction section.”

Ryan balls his hands into fists. “The _fiction_ section?”

“Yeah,” Madej says. “This whole section is tall tales and ghost stories. What’s your research for? Are you searching for stories for the road? Trying to get a leg up in the campfire competition?”

Ryan scrunches his nose at Madej in distaste as he deliberates his options. He could lie to Madej, say he’s just browsing and ignore Madej until he finally gets it through his thick skull that Ryan is not here to talk to him. Or...he could enlist the man for help and potentially find the life-saving answer sooner. Ugh. He just knows Madej is going to be insufferable about it. 

“Well,” Ryan says, “if you must know, there’s something roaming the town that feasts on livers.”

“Wow! Very interesting.” Ryan can not discern Madej's sincerity. He assumes the worst. “What have you got so far?”

“That there’s something roaming the town and feasting on livers.” Ryan crosses his arms. “It’s not much to go on, but I thought that it wouldn’t hurt to take a brief perusal, see if anything relevant surfaced. If you don’t have any insight, you could just leave me to it.”

“I’d be a pretty shit historian if I did that. At least let me take you to the non-fiction section.”

“This is the monsters section,” Ryan says stoutly. He makes an elaborate gesture of scanning the shelves. “But hmmmmm...where’s the book about you?”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Madej says shortly. “But you’re wasting your time over here. Everything on this side isn’t real.”

Ryan snaps his head back up and around so he can stare the lunatic down. “ _Isn’t real_? God’s bones, man, I’ve _seen_ the creatures of these stories. I’ve fought them.”

“Oh, good,” Madej says. “I’ll remedy it at once, then. Just tell me, what proof do you have?”

“What _proof_?!” Ryan squawks. “Mine own eyes!”

“Riiiiight,” Madej says. “Problem being, eyewitness accounts aren’t credible because all individuals are susceptible to bias. There are too many factors at play that could affect visual, audial, olfactory, and tactile senses. I need unbiased data. So tell me, do you have a half-transformed werewolf pelt? A griffin’s claw? A dragon scale?”

“You don’t believe in dragons?!” Ryan yelps. He takes a hasty step in horrified retreat, reconsiders the ramifications of Madej’s words, and marches back forward with narrowed eyes. “Are you accusing me of speaking a falsehood?”

“No, no, no,” Madej assures him. “I believe that you believe you’re speaking truth. Your lie is entirely unintentional.”

“You believe me untrustworthy?” Ryan glowers. “How dare you! I am a knight, sir! I should challenge you!”

“I’d not accept,” Madej shrugs. “I most certainly have no quarrel with you.”

Ryan is dumbfounded. He always knew Madej was a strange one, but for him to discard his honor on a whim...how did this man manage to still hold favor with the king? Unless, perhaps, King Steven doesn’t know how depraved his Court Historian truly is. Ryan should alert him at once. 

“Come on, Bergara,” Madej coaxes. “Let’s head on over--”

“No. I am doing my research here.”

Madej huffs, and Ryan beams with radiant smugness to have ruffled the man’s feathers, if only for a moment. “Look, Bergara, I know I razzed your pride, but if there are lives on the line, you really can’t afford to waste time.”

“Precisely,” Ryan says. He grabs a book at random and begins thumbing through. It becomes quickly apparent that the book is about Yang’s adventures with mermaids off the coast of Triguandas: a fascinating read, but of little relevance to their case. He closes it and returns it to the shelf. “If you feel so strongly about it, you should go look in your fiction section.”

“Non-fiction,” Madej says. “This is the fiction section.”

“Whatever.” 

Madej does a rattling exhale, visibly composes himself, and sweeps himself over to the far side of the library, where Ryan’s mother had previously kept medical documents. The answer most certainly isn’t going to be _there_. They already know what the missing organs are. Now, they just need to discover what’s taking them, how to lure the being forth, and how to slay it. 

Ryan piles a few promising titles into a stack and makes his way over to the table in the center of the hall. “Madej?”

Madej hums back at him. The sound conveys clearly through the empty space.

“I’ll need some parchment and a quill.”

“You know where they are.” 

Ryan can only see the top of Madej’s head protruding over the shelf, but he musters his fiercest scowl in his direction. The man lacks all sense of decorum--which is bad enough as it is--but must he do so so blatantly?

Ryan fetches a writing set from the Court Historian’s stand. Even now, as a grown man and a renowned knight, there’s something about that crisp scent of parchment and the acrid bite of fresh ink in the air that beckons him with sweet nostalgia. He opens the Lady of Bubetar’s works on forest monsters attacking fledgling towns and begins reading.

He’s barely completed the first paragraph when a pile of books drops before him with a thud that shakes the table. Ryan startles, nearly knocking over the inkwell, and regards Madej with utmost disdain.

“Hey,” Madej says agreeably. He plops into the seat directly across from Ryan.

Ryan haughtily returns to his reading, only to have Madej’s boot soon make hearty connection with his own ankle. 

“Some space, if you please!” Ryan yelps. He leaps upright, collects his books and writing set, and moves down the table to the next chair.

“I didn’t mean to,” Madej says with significantly more indication of irritation than sincerity. He tosses his stringy hair over his shoulder and hunches down over his volume of choice. The posture is so preposterous as to be bordering upon offensive. Ryan cannot focus on Lady Devin’s histories while Madej is doing his best effort at affecting a chronic spinal injury.

“You shouldn’t read like that, you know,” Ryan says. “With your back all hunched. It’ll be to your detriment in later life.”

“I am something of an expert in reading,” Madej responds. While still maintaining that dreadful hunched pose, he cranes his neck about so that he can look Ryan in the face. He has the most unbearable smirk, which has the unforeseen consequence of brightening his muddy eyes and summoning dimples to the corners of his mouth.

“Lamentable as that may be,” Ryan snips, “my father found that improper spinal alignment bore the blame of many impairments to the limbs, neck, and head.”

“I’ll let you know should I feature such maladies--” Madej shrugs. For such a thin fellow, he has massive shoulders. Had he chosen the nobler path, Ryan surmises that he would have made a passable knight. “--so that you may say that you told me so.”

“I will relish the day,” Ryan promises.

“I look forward to it,” Madej says. He closes one eye conspiratorially at Ryan. Ryan does not like it. He is not a comrade of this man. They share no secrets.

“But for now, would you sit in proper fashion?” he demands.

“Do you know what the average life expectancy is these days?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The average life expectancy for men,” Madej says. He props up his bulbous head with his unreasonably long arm. 

“I fail to see how this pertains--”

“45,” Madej says. “So I reckon I’ll sit how I like in what time I have left on this earth.”

Ryan has no answer for such morbid sentiment. He returns to his reading with no dearth of irritation and moves his book slightly down the table so he doesn’t have Madej’s ridiculous reading posture looming in his periphery. The hall is silent for some time, save for the whisper of a turning page or the scratch of Ryan’s quill against parchment. Ryan chances a look back at Madej who, although he is still entrenched in his crippling slouch, seems to be authentically invested in sourcing the cause of the missing livers. It thaws Ryan’s distaste sufficiently enough for Ryan to make a gesture of good will after a string of uninterrupted hours.

“Hey, tall fellow. I intend to arrest this session to partake in some nutrition. Would you have me return with any?”

Madej regards him with dry suspicion. “I would have your intent to poison me be less overt, had I a choice.”

“Poison?” Ryan turns to fully face Madej. The towering man is rolling his shoulders with a sigh of satisfaction that bears passing resemblance to the song of sirens recorded in the Triguandan annuals. Ryan shakes his head to clear his mind. “Nay, I wouldn’t do something so obvious.”

“So obvious?” Madej says, and Ryan recognizes the mischievous invitation in his voice. “I would think the obvious move would involve less deception and more stabbing.”

“Were I such a fiend, I would have more stylations than these.” Ryan carefully pours his remaining ink back into its bottle and corks it tightly. 

“Oh, would you?” Madej says delightedly. “Go on. How would you do it?”

“Firstly, I should refrain from being in your presence on the day of your murder,” Ryan informs him. He blows warm air over the parchment, looking intently for any shimmering indication of wet ink. The last row of notes is not yet quite dry.

Madej coughs. “And secondly?”

Ryan cuts a smile to Madej. “We’ll see. The only thing I intend to slay today is this beast, so I’ll not be revealing any details for you to document and secret away.”

Madej barks a laugh. “Wiser than I anticipated, Bergara.”

“I am more than my skill in combat,” Ryan huffs. “My mother--”

“--was the former Court Historian.”

Well of course Madej would know that. He usurped her, afterall. “And my father--

“--is the Court Physician.”

“Precisely.” 

“Making you a man of many trades,” Madej says. He folds his hands into his lap. “Well, were it not such a burden, I could accompany you. Eating in here can attract pests, afterall.”

Ryan arches a brow his way. “Would you do such a thing?”

“Aye, I would.”

“I assure you that it would be no hassle to bring--”

“Ryan. May I call you Ryan?”

Ryan stares mutely at Madej. He is uncertain as to the exact details that are transpiring here. Madej has rarely been spotted outside of the Hall of Records, but here he is, _forenaming_ Ryan and, by every appearance, asking for them to dine together as though they have not had numerous instances of verbal jousts and two physical altercations. 

“I would benefit from company,” Madej says quietly. “Should my presence be not entirely abhorrent.” 

“Therein lies the question,” Ryan says, recovery made possible by the potential for a jest. “Are you capable of being passable company?”

“That’s entirely objective,” Madej says. His voice is whisper soft. “What say you, Bergara?”

Ryan rubs the spot of ink on his thumb to confirm that it is dry before holding his hand out. “I’d say I could manage to stomach your company for a little longer yet.”

Madej’s face momentarily rearranges into foolish joy before fading back into a blank slate. He leans across the table to grasp Ryan’s forearm, and Ryan grasps his in return. Madej’s fingers wrap around the entirety of the meat of Ryan’s forearm, and that detail flares and burns into Ryan’s mind with undue importance. 

“We’d best be going,” Ryan says hurriedly. He pulls his arm back with unnecessary force. He can still feel the warmth of Madej’s hand like a brand. “I need to find some sort of answer tonight.”

“You didn’t find it in your make-believe books?”

“Oh, fuck off with that already.” Ryan stomps to the double doors. “And fair warning, tall fellow--my leniency on this matter is in short supply.”

“Pity you already revealed your hand,” Madej says. “You won’t be murdering me today, Bergara. That would go against your principles of a good kill.”

“Ryan,” Ryan says. “You, uh...you can call me Ryan, if it so suited your fancy. And I think you’ll find that a lax guard provides ample opportunity to take a man unaware.”

“Oh, my. But you’re far too honorable for that, aren’t you, Ryan?” Madej croons. 

“There is honor to be found in victory.” 

“That’s not the mindset one would hope to find in one of the king’s knights.”

“Hey, no…” Ryan takes a few rapid steps to draw near enough to clasp Madej’s elbow. “You know that you are not in any peril from me, right?”

Madej goes incredibly still and stares at Ryan’s hand on his arm. “I find myself in terrible peril from you, Ryan Bergara.”

Ryan releases his arm. “If I bring you such discomfit, I could remove myself from your company.”

“I would have you not.”

Ryan stares up at the inscrutable man in search of an answer, but none are forthcoming. “Dinner?”

“Dinner,” Madej agrees, and they sally forth towards the Great Hall. Traditionally, Ryan would be seated at one of the tables bordering King Steven’s, but with a hard nod to the captain of the guard, Ryan sets course for the banquet table populated by the courtesans. 

Ryan quickly comes to understand that Madej has rather poor choice in dinner conversation. As he slurps his stew, Ryan is subjected to the fruit of Madej’s research.

“The liver is the production site of blood, to such an extent that it could best be comprehended as coagulated blood. Furthermore, the relationship between the liver and heart is that most integral to life. The heart is protected by the ribcage, but the liver is protected by naught but the spleen and gallbladder. Yellow bile--”

“As entrancing as this conversation may be,” Ryan gags, “perhaps it could be continued at a later time?”

Madej snorts. “Oh, would you prefer to traipse out your children’s tales? Go on, Ryan, what stories have you read today?”

Ryan sniffs haughtily. “I have four hypotheses under consideration.”

“Well, go on.”

Ryan lowers his voice and leans toward Madej. “The curious thing about the bodies is that, although each residence was verily besieged with disorder, there were no tracks. In or out of the house. Why might that be? Because...” he pauses for the dramatic suspense and is rewarded by Madej leaning closer. “...the killer never touched the ground. The deaths were at the claw of the behemoth killer eagle!”

“Behemoth...killer..eagle,” Madej wheezes, and Ryan has a brief moment of concern that he has overtaxed Madej’s sensibilities at the mention of murder raptors, only to promptly arrive at the conclusion that the peculiar man is laughing.

“Yes,” Ryan snips. “In a rare translation from the poet Hesiod--”

“A poet?” Madej exclaims. “No. Absolutely not. Christ, Ryan--”

“Maybe if you were to listen instead of immediately discounting hard evidence--”

“Ryan, a poet does not a historian make. And as far as hard evidence--”

“Sounds like you’re terrible at poetry,” Ryan replies. “And bear a grudge ‘gainst all poets of renown.”

“I’m a great poet,” Madej informs him. “And I’ll be the first to tell you how a story can twist and stretch for a poet in need of proper meter.”

“I’d wager you’re an awful poet,” Ryan insists staunchly. 

“I’ll show you them sometime,” Madej says. He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “If you want.”

“Uh, sure.” Ryan straightens. “Maybe after the monster is slain.”

Madej smiles warmly at Ryan. “Go on, then. Tell me all about your murder birds.”

So Ryan explains in great detail about the beak and talons sharper than the finest honed blade, that growing to such an enormous size would only be feasible with concentrated nutrition, that Hesiod’s poem recounted--

“No, absolutely not,” Madej says. “I refuse to listen to you calling poetry a source. Yes, this entire theory is shit, but at poetry, I draw the line. What’s your next theory?”

Madej also finds no credence in Ryan’s research into the blood faeries.

“They lay eggs in the bloodstream!” Ryan says. “And since, as you yourself have stated, the blood flows through the heart and the liver, it would be entirely possible for those eggs to collect in the liver and, upon hatching, burst through the belly.”

“Referencing scientific fact does not negate that this requires the incredible presumption that blood faeries are real.”

“You do not determine reality!”

“No, but I do experience it. I do discern reality from data, not absurd explanations of passing shadows or blood spots in the homes of those dying from undiagnosed malady.”

“So we come again to the crux of your problem: you imagine all other experiences other than yours to be falsehoods.”

“If your murder hawks and blood faeries were real, why have none been captured? Do they not perish? Where are their corpses?”

“They are magical beings!” Ryan enunciates each word distinctly. “Their bodies probably, like, disintegrate once the life force has faded. I don’t know why this is so hard for you to grasp. I thought you to be a man of some reasoning, but you fail to acknowledge any proof which is not to your liking.”

“To be clear,” Madej shrugs, “someone telling a story is not proof, not even if it be written.”

Ryan groans and returns to his stew.

“You have two more theories.”

“I won’t bother regaling you with any more,” Ryan grumbles. “As you have not the decency to consider the merits of a theory in your eagerness to smear shit all over them.”

“I’ll hold my tongue,” Madej promises.

“I don’t believe you have any control o’er it.”

“Come on, Ryan.”

Ryan drains the remainder of his stew before answering. “Not a word out of you.”

“I swear it.”

“The third hypothesis is, admittedly, a little far-fetched,” Ryan says. “Have you heard of the Aswang?”

Madej gestures apologetically to his mouth, but the twinkle in his eye belies his true sentiment.

“When I said not a word,” Ryan grumbles, “I did not intend a silent audience. But never mind. The Aswang is not native to this region; however, as Limgdom has opened its borders to imports, there remains the possibility that something inhuman has entered alongside. The Aswang appears as an intoxicatingly beautiful woman, and all men that fall under her shadow are fated prey. She comes in the dark of the night and transforms from woman to monster, devouring the doomed fellow with a tongue sharp enough to cut glass!”

Madej swells like a bullfrog, but he manages to hold true to his word and refrain from speaking.

“An Aswang would not even need enter the dwelling,” Ryan explains. “It would also explain why all the targets have been men.”

“All of the targets have been men?” Madej repeats. “And you only now thought to mention it?”

“All known targets,” Ryan says ominously. He’s pleased that the compulsion of the theory drew Madej to break his vow of silence, but then again, Madej is a man of little honor and Ryan never truly believed that he was capable of maintaining his quiet. 

“Well, at least you knew this theory to be ludicrous,” Madej says. He brings his bowl of stew to his lips.

“It is the most far-fetched of the four,” Ryan admits. “However, as previously stated, it is possible that open borders have created opportunities for exotic beasts to cross into the country.”

Madej splutters his stew down his tunic. He thwacks his chest with a fist, and, as soon as he is able to speak, gasps, “You believe the flaw with that theory is that your _magical, woman-transforming monster with a knife-tongue_ is from abroad?”

Ryan crosses his arms and, with a condemning brow, dares Madej to speak again of his tirade against first-hand documentation. 

“Right, right,” Madej says, sweeping his words away with a gaudy gesture. “Onto the final theory, then.”

Ryan doesn’t bother employing dramatics, which seem to be entirely wasted on Madej due to his stubborn need to focus consistently on the exact wrong detail. “Raiders from the moon are seeking iron deposits in their most compact, soluble form.”

Madej lets loose with a bark of laughter. 

“I ordered this one last due to the limited evidence,” Ryan says. “But, consider this: iron exists naturally in human blood, and is particularly found where? In organs. And how would the moon’s inhabitants gain access to iron?”

“These, uh, moon people don’t have organs?” Madej asks. The corner of his mouth is ticking upwards incrementally. “They’ve got to steal ones from God’s green Earth?”

“Don’t be absurd; they’re not going to eat each other,” Ryan says. “They ride to the earth on moonbeams, feast, and return home. The first attack was two days ago. Do you know when the last new moon was?”

“I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”

“Three days ago,” Ryan says significantly. “So if I’m right on this, then we will have nearly a month of the townspeople dying before the next new moon and reprieve.” 

Madej presses his lips together as he basks in the flawless array of Ryan’s evidence. Then he says, “It’s fortunate that you’ve your looks.”

Ryan squares his shoulders. “I resent your implication,” he says, trying his best to ignore the flattery in favor of addressing the insult.

Madej gives Ryan another one of those one-eyed blinks and slurps down some more of his stew. “I, in turn, resent yours.”

“I haven’t taken issue with your research.”

“That third theory,” Madej says thoughtfully. “You don’t particularly care for outsiders, hmm?”

Ryan narrows his eyes. “That theory was not about you, Madej. I specifically described the Aswang as appearing as a beautiful woman, and you are no beautiful woman.”

“I’m not.” Madej laughs again, but this one is a hollow imitation of his earlier surprised bark of laughter. “A beautiful woman would stand a chance, at least.”

Ryan wraps his hand around his tankard. “A chance at what?”

Madej’s eyes flutter down and back up. He grabs his own tankard and takes a hasty swig. 

“No, go on. I laid down my labored suppositions for your amusement, the least you could do is explain your comment.” Ryan takes a swallow of ale and raises his eyebrows over the bottom of his tankard in challenge.

“I hear how they speak of me,” Madej confides to his remaining stew. “As if I were more object or beast than man.”

Ryan smacks his lips. “Who speaks of you? Saying what?”

“All sorts of things,” Madej says. “Be it as it were, as much as I have attempted to convince myself otherwise, I am a man of red blood and doughy heart.” 

“Odd choice of words, that.” Ryan runs his thumb along the handle of his tankard while carefully choosing his next words. “There is always some piece of cheap gossip around court. Consider it a testament to your value and status, and bear no mind to its contents.” 

“Easy for you to say.”

“I’ve had mine own share of gossip.”

“Oh, yes,” Madej sneers. “I’ve heard tale of your heroism and might, your fortitude, your wit, your exploits--”

“Were I a humbler man, I would accept the determination of such stories as gossip.” Ryan tosses his head. “But I, unfortunately, have yet to master such virtue.”

“I have yet to see evidence to indicate these tales as anything other than puffed-up odes to your ego.”

Ryan throws back his head in a full-body laugh. Madej watches on, and his stoic façade inevitably crumbles into little wheezing giggles. The failing infrastructure of the Court Historian’s stiff upper lip casts Ryan into deeper tides of mirth. It takes some time for their amusement to settle. 

“You’re plucky, Madej, I’ll warrant you as much.” Ryan slaps Madej’s arm, and his fingers, without any notion of intention, curl briefly into the coarse fabric hugging Madej’s bicep. Ryan quickly withdrawals his hand.

“Yeah?” Madej rasps. He doesn’t look away from Ryan as he raises his tankard for another swig. 

“Yeah,” Ryan says. He coughs to clear his throat, which has turned mysteriously dry. “I admit that you’ve captured my curiosity in this matter. What have you heard of me?”

“If you believe my intent is to grow your esteem, you are sorely mistaken,” Madej warns.

“Have at it,” Ryan invites with a broad, beckoning gesture. “Unless you are mere bluster.”

“You were raised alongside his majesty,” Madej says. “The two of you were inseparable in youth.”

Ryan turns toward Madej and drops his elbow onto the table. “There lies some merit in that claim.”

“You have no nobility in your blood,” Madej says. “Yet because of your proximity to the king, you were permitted combat training.”

“I begin to think you know not what qualifies as gossip, dear tall fellow.” 

“On multiple occasions, you would replace the king in training sessions.”

Ryan smiles in fond reminiscence. “Not with any frequency. King Steven is a warrior in his own right.”

“You saved his life as a youth.”

Ryan shrugs. “And he, mine.”

“You fell for the same girl,” Madej continues, and his eyes have taken on a peculiar hardness. “And your relationship was sown asunder. She, being of innoble blood, was not courtable by a king-to-be.” 

“There we go,” Ryan says. “Look, his majesty and I are on perfectly good terms.”

“King Steven traveled abroad ‘til he was at the age of ascension, during which time, you made no advances on the woman out of loyalty to his majesty.”

“King Steven travelled for his education,” Ryan says. “He’s all the wiser for it.”

“Your loyalty is without question,” Madej says. His eyes have softened, but they have lost no luster of intensity. 

Ryan shifts uncomfortably. He has been making terribly good acquiescence with the man who stole his mother’s job, which seems to be the sort of thing a loyal man would refrain from doing. “Anything else you’ve heard?”

“Some other fragments here and there,” Madej says cavalierly. “But I wouldn’t take your word for their veracity.” 

“Again with the accusations,” Ryan huffs. He turns back to the table. “So, how do I measure against the word of the court?” He reaches for a cut of rosemary bread. 

“You don’t,” Madej says absently. His eyes track the stretch of Ryan’s fingers across the table. 

Those words sting Ryan’s spirit. He tears his bread into two chunks, stuffs one into his gob, and begins chewing in earnest. He takes another splash of ale to wet his throat. He stares straight ahead. “You were the one who approached me in the library. You’re the one who suggested dining together.” Ryan roughly swipes at his nose with the back of his hand. “Don’t seek company you’d rather avoid.”

“You’ve taken offense at my words.”

“You’ve taken shots at my character. Of course I’ve taken offense.”

“I have done no such thing.”

“You have gleefully assaulted my theorems, repeatedly implied that I am a liar, and stated, as much, that I am less than advertised.” 

“No. Not at all.” Madej makes a gesture as if to grab Ryan’s arm, and Ryan feels his body heat rising into the imprint of Madej’s earlier grip of his forearm. “Ryan, most assuredly, I am misunderstood.”

“If you be misunderstood, it be an effort of your own undertaking.”

“I meant no disrespect. I swear it.”

The words would bear more weight had Madej not proved, time and time again, that his honor is not in good standing. Nonetheless, Ryan seeks balm for his bruised ego. He nods at Madej to continue on. 

“I feel strongly that honesty is the most respect one human can offer another. All of my studies of history and science have reinforced my understanding that the word of a man is capable of unintentional deception because the mind of man is fallible, susceptible to limiting understanding to existing conceptualizations of reality.”

“Pretty words, summing to nothing,” Ryan says. “Tell me again of how poorly I measure against my reputation.”

“I could no more measure you against your reputation than I could measure the volume of the seas with this stein.” Madej taps his tankard against the table. “You speak truth in that I sought out your company.”

“Oh.” Ryan chances a look at Madej. The man is hunched nearly in half, and Ryan imagines brushing the calloused pads of his fingers over the knobs of his spine to draw him more upright. “You turn a good phrase.”

“I promised you poetry,” Madej replies. 

“Maybe on a night without murders,” Ryan says. “I’ll alert the captain to my research, and then reconvene in the library until my shift.” 

“You work tonight?”

“We all take an evening shift now,” Ryan says. “The people of Limgdom need to know that we will provide for them, even if we do not truly know the nature of what we face.” He chokes down the second chunk of his bread. “I’ll see you in the library.”

Ryan pushes away from the table and marches up to Captain LeBlanc, who watches his approach with interest. 

“Captain,” Ryan says. He drops a bow to King Steven. “Your majesty.”

“Hiya, Ryan,” King Steven says. “I see you’re getting along with Shane.”

“Shane, my lord?” Ryan asks.

“The man you’ve just dined with.”

“Oh. Right.” Ryan hadn’t know Madej’s forename. He wonders if he should’ve asked it when Madej had asked to call him Ryan. “Yes. Unique fellow.”

“Yes,” King Steven agrees. “It’s good to see him out and about. I feared he’d lock himself up in the Hall of Records forever.”

“Speaking of which,” Captain LeBlanc interjects firmly. “Have you found any answers, Bergara?”

Madej is hovering against the wall on the far side of the hall instead of heading back to the Hall of Records. When he sees Ryan looking, he offers a goofy wave, and Ryan snickers.

“Bergara?” Captain LeBlanc prompts.

King Steven hums knowingly.

“Precluding new data,” Ryan says, sobering up quickly. “It could be behemoth killer eagles, blood faeries, an Aswang, or moon beings. I will bring you my full report before leaving for the lower town, but, in summary, we should be on guard for opponents great or small.” 

Captain LeBlanc purses her lips. “I look forward to seeing it.” 

“I’ll just be getting on, then,” Ryan says, thumbing toward the door. He bows to the king and beats a hasty retreat over to Madej.

“That was quick.” Madej greets him.

“There’s work to be done,” Ryan says. “Let’s go.”

The halls of the castle are as busy as ever. Although word of the back-to-back murders in the lower town have doubtlessly circulated throughout the castle, its residents take no alarm. Ryan would have the lower town feel that same degree of confidence in the protection established by the knights. 

“Are you fearful?” Ryan asks. “With death being sown in the lower town.”

“There is real danger,” Madej shrugs. “Your flawed theories do not distract from that. But seeing as I am not the one attending to the killer, I doubt I am in any danger here.”

“I ask not about your logic,” Ryan says. “I ask--”

“Terrified, in truth,” Madej says quietly. “I would not have the next death reported be yours, were my sentiment taken counsel.”

“I would have no further deaths reported,” Ryan says. His face is warm from Madej’s words. “Do away with any concern on my behalf.”

“If you insist as much,” Madej snorts. “I would were the heart a thing of reason.”

“I will take every precaution,” Ryan says. “I will cover my armor so that the shine may not beckon the eagles. I will take a pail of water so that the faeries will not thirst for my blood. I will carry a light so as to ne’er step foot in the Aswang’s shadow. And I will stay alert to the waxing moon.”

“Ryan,” Madej sighs. “Ryan, Ryan, Ryan.”

“Speak your word.”

“People are getting killed.”

“Truth.”

“And your answer is to occupy one hand with water, the other with a torch, and stare into the sky.”

“Well, I do fully intend to set the pail down.” Ryan knows no reason for which Madej’s brow be wrinkled to such an extent.

“Oh, good,” Madej draws, robed in sardonicism. 

“Have you words? Speak them plainly!” Ryan demands.

“Do you have no fear for attempts made on your life?” 

“I know fear in all of her forms,” Ryan says. “But I refuse to let her retain me.”

Madej tugs at his beard and mutters something under his breath. Ryan deliberates pressing the words out of him. It appears, despite all of his jabs and quarrels, that Madej is favoring him with affection, and Ryan would rather not dismiss his concern. Over the years, he has won favor with much of the castle, but his record has made him a champion cheered, not a champion seen in need of concern. 

“I be a knight in all but nobility,” Ryan says. “I assure you that I have trained for such dangers. I will not seize up in the face of peril.”

Madej offers him no response, instead marching into the Hall of Records and depositing himself in Ryan’s seat.

“Alright, my tall fellow,” Ryan says. “What lies your purpose in this?”

“At the back of the hall,” Madej says, “you will find my chambers. I will take note of all manner of fantastic elements in your so-called research. Rest until you must go, and I will apprise you of all fresh contents.”

Ryan barks a laugh. “You have no such credibility as to posit such an offer. You would take nothing to note.”

“I would take to note words of all fictions should it result in your increased alertness this evening.”

“Despite the generous nature of such an offer, I must insist--”

“No, Ryan,” Madej says. He hunches over Ryan’s books, arms spread to conceal the entirety of Ryan’s research. “I do insist.”

Ryan comes to stand next to Madej. That posture cannot be good for his spine. “Sleep offers me no aide tonight.”

Madej drops his chin onto a pile of books. “May I speak in earnest?”

“Were you not before?” 

“I believed you loathed me,” Madej tells Lorenzo’s _Legends of the Island_. “But…”

“Hmm?” Ryan says encouragingly. His fingers hover over Madej’s back, ghosting the rough fibers of his tunic without applying pressure to his back.

Madej heaves himself upright. His back fills Ryan’s palm and pins it against the back of the chair. A hearty tug would free Ryan’s hand, but he has no desire for such liberty. With straightened posture, Madej’s face is about level with Ryan’s breastbone. He tilts his head up to look Ryan in the eye. 

Madej wets his lips. “May I believe differently?”

Ryan’s thumb twitches against Madej’s spine, and Ryan can feel a shiver overtake Madej. “What would you believe instead?” He hears the breathiness in his voice, he recognizes this trajectory, this dance…

“A thousand different things,” Madej whispers. “I require further data.”

“I thought it part of your job, collecting data.”

“A common misconception.” Madej’s nose flares. “People give it to me, and I organize it.”

Ryan sucks in a breath of air. “Before proceeding, and for the sake of clarity, does this mean--”

Madej closes his eyes, lets out a wavering breath, and whispers, “Kiss me, Ryan.”

Ryan takes Madej’s chin with his free hand, tilts it a fraction higher, and presses a kiss to his mouth. He can feel Madej smiling against his lips, a little mean with triumph, and so he sets course to reduce the man to shambles.

Ryan kicks back Madej’s chair without breaking contact with his mouth. He draws Madej’s face with him as he swings a leg over and settles into his lap. Madej’s hands flutter to Ryan’s thighs to steady him, and Ryan pushes promises of his enthusiastic consent to Madej’s lips. He gasps as Madej’s fingers dig into the meat of his thigh and inch towards his ass. 

“How about that data?” Ryan leers. 

“In...incomplete,” Madej pants. He’s glassy-eyed and has a thin sheen of sweat forming upon his brow. “Insufficient.”

“Insufficient?! Oh, I’ll show you insufficient,” Ryan promises. He pulls one of Madej’s enormous hands to rest entirely on his ass and, with a push, guides him to rock Ryan forward in his lap. Madej’s hips jitter up, and Ryan makes brief acquaintance with a certain deep sea monster he won’t mind getting to know a little better. “Don’t you dare hold out on me.”

Madej groans into Ryan’s throat and rocks Ryan’s hips down again. Ryan yanks up his chin so he can reclaim his mouth. They fall into frantic rhythm, nipping, rubbing, and yanking, until Madej’s hips stutter and he sinks bonelessly into Ryan’s chair.

“Hey,” Ryan says. He slows his undulations and leans forward to lick the exposed little stretch of neck accessible under the beard. “I’m no Court Historian, but I’ll wager that’s sufficient documentation for updating the record.”

Madej huffs a half-laugh and palms Ryan’s ass again before sliding a hand up to Ryan’s hip and teasing his thumb toward his crotch. Ryan collapses against Madej’s chest.

“Not tonight,” he tells Madej’s chest. It’s more muscled than he’d supposed, which, in hindsight, made decent sense with how easily Madej had carted his stack of books over to the table at the beginning of the evening. Madej’s thumb digs into his hip bone. “I require all my sensibilities.”

“You never had any sensibility to start with,” Madej says. Ryan can feel the words rumbling through Madej’s chest. 

“I need to return to my research.” 

“I don’t want that in your head,” Madej says. He rests his cheek on top of Ryan’s head. “I don’t want you out there, relying on water and torches to keep you safe.”

“I’ll be in my armor,” Ryan reminds him. “And armed.” He lazily ruts a couple more times against Madej’s leg. “I won’t be alone.”

Madej’s hands scrape up the sides of Ryan’s ribs and cross behind his back. Ryan has a brief visualization of Madej’s hands encapsulating him like a second set of ribs and presses closer to his chest. He hasn’t been so held since he was a child, and he finds himself very taken with the omnipresence of Madej. 

“I suppose you won’t,” Madej mutters. 

Ryan presses a hand to Madej’s chest to dismount, only to promptly saddle back up facing the table. He pulls Lorenzo’s volume forward. “Notify me when I need move.”

“Okay,” Madej agrees. He leans forward to drape his front along Ryan’s back and rest his giant hand on Ryan’s stomach. Ryan pauses to steady his breaths before cracking open _Legends of the Island_. 

It’s a substantially different study session from their earlier one. Madej nibbles along the rim of Ryan’s ear, making it nearly impossible to keep a steady hand while writing. His hand makes it way under his tunic and explores his bellybutton. When he tires of that, Madej nudges Ryan’s legs a little wider and massages the cords of muscle in his thighs and haunches. Ryan has to stop him there with a quick kiss and a promise of later.

Once the eleventh hour has rung out across the courtyard, Ryan climbs off of Madej’s lap. Madej winces.

“An ass as round as yours has no business being so bony,” he informs Ryan as he attempts to stand with trembling legs.

“I told you to tell me,” Ryan replies unapologetically. He rolls his notes and ties them with a leather cord. “Will I see you for breakfast?”

“Will I see _you_ for breakfast?” Madej retorts morosely. 

“Had you bothered showing for breakfast before,” Ryan informs him, “you would know my answer to be a resounding yes.”

“Ryan.”

“Hmm?”

Madej grabs him by the collar and pulls Ryan up to his tiptoes to lay upon him a kiss, but Ryan is quick to seize the lead.

“Don’t die,” Madej tells Ryan’s mouth. “I won’t allow it.”

“Oddly enough, that was not on my itenerary.” Ryan draws Shane’s hand to his mouth and drops a kiss onto his palm. “I’ll be prudent.”

“You’d better,” Madej grumbles.

“Get to bed,” Ryan says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Swear it,” Madej says.

“You are dramatic without cause.” Ryan draws away. The hall feels much colder without Madej’s body blanketing him. He’d need some extra layers under his armor to withstand the night. “Go to bed.”

Madej stares at him mournfully, and Ryan offers him a half-wave before stepping to the exit. He returns first to his chambers to dress for his shift. He dons two undershirts and full padding beneath his armor and dulls the shine of his armor with a rag dipped in ash from the fireplace. 

Properly attired, Ryan heads next to the watch tower, where Captain LeBlanc stands, ready to respond to the first alert from the lower town.

“Captain.” Ryan holds a hand to his chest, stopping just in time to avoid soiling his hand with ash.

“Sir Bergara.”

“The report, as requested.” Ryan holds out the parchment and stands at attention while Captain Blanc reads with stoic visage.

“I will alert the shift change,” Captain LeBlanc finally says, rolling the parchment back up and tying it off. “Good work as usual.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“You are dismissed.”

Ryan heads to the courtyard to await the changing of the shift. There are a few other knights present, huddled in a circle to maintain heat. Ryan acknowledges them with a nod.

“Bergara!” Sir Kornfield calls. “Didst mine eyes deceive me, or have you taken fancy?”

“Perchance Bergara’s eyes have deceived him,” Sir Fulmer cackles. “Seeing as his eyes ne’er once did stray.”

“Control your tongues lest I control them for you,” Ryan retorts. He elbows his way into the circle between Kornfield and Chirico. 

“Oh, how we tremble,” Dame Chirico laughs. “Do you see us, Brrrrrrgara?” She quivers a hand before his eyes.

Dame Ruggirello snorts. “Bet you felt proud of that one, didn’t you?”

“My plays on words are among the most sought treasures of the known world.”

“Was it a play on words?” Ryan says. “It seemed more like a grating upon the ears.”

Dame Chirico gasps in mock offense. “As if you yourself have not dabbled in such turns of phrase!”

“Yea, but consider how mine bear substance.” Ryan jabs at Dame Chirico with his elbow.

“I believe Bergara has other dabblings in mind,” Sir Kornfield says. He taps his pointer fingers together with deliberate pause.

Ryan can feel heat rising to his face. “My interests and pastimes do not demand discussion.”

The knights break into delighted laughter, and Ryan sourly crosses his arms over his chest.

“I am surrounded by fools,” he mourns. 

“He be smitten,” Sir Fulmer crows. 

“You should be the last to say anyone be smitten,” Ryan says.

“How did he entrance you so wholly, Bergara?” Sir Kornfield demands. “Tell us!”

The question gives Ryan pause. In his mind’s eye, there is no part of Madej that would have captured his interest. He’s met many a tall man, many an odd man, and plenty of those willing to tease him. In prior encounters, Ryan had never once been moved to hold Madej’s face or mount his lap. Tonight had seemed so natural, so cumulative, that he hadn’t once considered the why of it.

“Bergara?” Dame Ruggirello asks. 

“I...I…” Ryan touches his glove to his lips. “He…”

“The man’s undone,” Sir Fulmer chortles. “Oh, hey-o!” He waves to Dame Ransome as she enters the courtyard. “Come join us.”

“Get in here,” Dame Ruggirello calls, opening the circle to pull Dame Ransome in.

Conversation kindly moves to other topics, but Ryan is frozen in terrible calculation. How precisely had the events of the past handful of hours transpired? From whence come the drive, the spark of motivation? Ryan can still recall the thrill of the dance and the satisfying scratch of the ride, but out of Madej’s presence, he has no recollection of the impetus. 

The knights break into lines as Captain LeBlanc strolls into the courtyard to give their posts and overview the potential dangers. Ryan watches the knights’ somber faces as Captain LeBlanc summarizes Ryan’s report and orders them to regularly check in with their partners throughout the night. Ryan considers his partner, the newly knighted Sir Inthavong, and wishes for someone less earnest, less eager-to-please, and more quiet.

“It’s an honor to be partnered with you,” Sir Inthavong says as they cross the gates and pause at the well to draw water. “I’ve heard so many good things about you, sir.”

“Have you?”

“Yes!” Sir Inthavong sucks in an enthusiastic breath before detailing Ryan’s record in his three years of service. Ryan has been subjected to praise previously, but as Sir Inthavong spews story after story, the details seem more favorfull than factual. Indeed, Ryan had battled the demon Mackeys, but severing its head had been more luck than pure skill; Ryan had restored the high temple of St. Augustine, but he had most certainly not intended to channel a lightning strike through the chapel; verily, Ryan had slain the desert dragon, but he’d most certainly defecated his trousers in the process. 

Sir Inthavong continues his prattling praise all the way down the main street and into the lower town. Ryan casts a longing look to the alehouse on the corner, but alas, it is shuttered for the night. He could do with something to combat the icy bite of the wind clawing its way in through any open nook of overlapping armor. 

“We will cross-position on the half hour,” Ryan informs Sir Inthavong. He pats the crumbling wall of the old town prison. “Do not engage without alerting me.”

“Yes, Sir Bergara,” Sir Inthavong promises.

“Right. Stay.” Ryan stomps up and across the street to maintain sight of the next cross-street. The knights of Limgdom cannot cover all open streets, but they have sufficient number to ensure that no man or beast crosses from one street to the other.

A meager handful of minutes later, Sir Inthavong enthusiastically beckons to Ryan. Ryan half-draws his sword as he races over.

“I meant no alarm,” Sir Inthavong says. “But look!” Sir Inthavong gestures to his pail, from whence come little splashes.

“Congratulations,” Ryan says dryly. “You’ve caught a rat.”

“He’s just taking a little bath,” Sir Inthavong says delightedly. He finally seems to grow cognizant of the fact that he’s just pulled Ryan off-duty to watch a rat and pops a quick salute. “I’ve got it from here, sir!”

“I desperately hope so. See to it that you’re not tempted off-guard from the monster, would you?”

“No, sir. I won’t be. I’ll be strictly on the lookout.” Sir Inthavong studiously looks away from the bucket. “He hopped in there pretty fast though, didn’t he?”

Ryan does not deign to answer him; rather, he turns heel and marches back to his post. He will have to be a firm hand with Sir Inthavong. They cannot afford to let the killer beast roam the city tonight. Ryan remembers King Steven, after one of his early economics lessons, lecturing a reluctant Ryan about the conditions of the poorest inevitably affecting the highest, be it through disease, decreasing labor, or revolution. Admittedly, the majority of the lecture had surpassed Ryan’s capabilities of feigning interest, but he’s certain in the knowledge that if these deaths keep happening, life at the castle will soon take a turn for the worse, which will, undoubtedly, result in the knights being spread even thinner.

The remainder of the half hour passes without anything of note. Ryan’s attempt to slow down his breathing to control the jittering breaths are met with middling success. He alerts Sir Inthavong with a sharp hand gesture and they cross paths with blessedly minimal commentary.

Ryan’s eyes catch on scurrying rats dashing through the shadows cast by his torch. Despite the muffling effect of the grime buildup on cobblestones, he can hear the scritching of their little claws. It sets Ryan’s teeth on edge. 

The wind howls shrilly over the wall, and Ryan casts a quick look into the depths of the jail. From this far away, the locked doors look more like a yawning abyss. A rat scampers from the wall into the shadows.

“I’m stepping aside,” Ryan barks to Sir Inthavong, who nods fervently. “Stay on guard.”

“Yessir!”

Ryan steps out of Sir Inthavong’s sight and closer to the old prison’s entrance. The way the flickering light hits the door must be an illusion. There’s no way…but no...the door _is_ open.

A faint scream sounds briefly before disappearing into the wind, and Ryan marches forward to the ajar door. It could be anything: a youth seeking space away from family, maybe a set of lovers in search of privacy, or perhaps a cast-out person wanting protection from the wind. Ryan silently draws his sword and eases the door open.

Ryan stills to catch his breath, which is currently stinging in his throat, and then he hears it again, clearer than before now that he’s out of the wind: the desperate scream. It comes distinctly from the eastern corridor. Ryan wastes no time. 

There’s a row of five decaying cells, a guard room, an interrogation galley, three more cells, and...there’s light.

Ryan is deeply aware that he has fucked up. He should never have entered the prisons solo; he should have either summoned Sir Inthavong or sent him to fetch more knights. Who knows what manner of creature lies ahead? 

The one thing that Ryan knows with great certainty is, should he retreat for back-up, the one screaming may forfeit their life. And Ryan cannot let that happen.

Ryan snuffs out his torch against the stone and, with an invigorating concoction of reticence and determination, hurries to the light. He stops as soon as the room comes into sight.

The entire chamber is drenched in blood, which would be distracting enough if it weren’t for the fact that Shane Madej is strapped down to a table in the middle of the room. He looks at Ryan with wide eyes and his lips curl into the shape of Ryan’s name.

Ryan rushes forward to hack at the leather bonds holding Madej’s hands over his head.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” Madej hisses back. He fumbles for the straps around his chest, and Ryan grabs his wrists to pull his hands out of the way before hacking again. “Where’s the rest of the patrol?”

“Patrolling,” Ryan snarls. He squeezes Madej’s fingers before moving down to his feet. “You were supposed to go to bed.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Madej shrugs. He sits upright, and Ryan can see a gash of blood on his forehead, hueing his hair red. 

“So you came to the lower town?” Ryan demands. 

“Yeah,” Madej grumbles. He yanks his feet free from the loose bindings and totters upright. Ryan retreats back several feet, sword held up between them. “Ryan?”

“Why do I like you?” Ryan says.

Madej gapes at him. “What?”

“For what conceivable reason could I be drawn to you?”

For a long moment, Madej gapes at Ryan. Then his face twists into a snarl. “Fuck you, Bergara. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” He kicks at the structure to whence he was just tied. “Why did you bother releasing me at all, if you were just to accuse me of witchcraft or, what, being a temptress bird man?”

“Or maybe,” Ryan retorts with matching vigor, “you could bother being assed enough to explain your presence after a day spent soliciting my attentions.”

“Why the hell would I explain myself to a man with no whit of reason?” Madej retorts hotly. He turns his back to Ryan. “Why would I explain myself to a man who bears me no honest affection?”

“I don’t know whether your methods be supernatural in inclination,” Ryan says. “But you can not deny there lies an element of deviousness.”

“An element of deviousness?!” Madej squawks. He pivots only to flinch back with a cry of terror at something behind Ryan. Ryan moves instinctively: a spinning half turn, a lunge, and a slash, and then there’s a writhing body on the floor.

Ryan takes a hasty step back, keeping both his assailant and Madej in his line of sight. “Who’s this?”

“With haste!” the terrible creature groans as he crawls along the floor. “I can fix this. Take me to my chambers.”

“You were prepared to assault me,” Ryan says. “I’ll do you no such service.”

“I’m immortal,” the figure howls. He’s leaving a decent trail of blood in his wake. He would pass for human in appearance and motion were he not yellow-eyed.

“No you’re not,” Madej says crossly. “You’re a loony. Why were you thieving livers?” 

“I needed the right one,” the villain whimpers. “It has to be just right.”

Fear and disgust battle in the forefront of Ryan’s mind. He tightens his grip on his sword. “Just right?”

“Just right,” the man sings. “They die if not, you know.”

“I think you’ll find they die when you take their livers,” Madej snaps. “Look, Bergara, I’m going to wash and retire. Should you wish to retain me, you know the location of my chambers.”

“Madej--”

“You may fight me, Sir Bergara,” Madej says. “Or you may watch me leave. But I have heard my fill of your idiocy and intend to hear no more.”

“Shane--”

“No! No! A thousand times over. I do not consent to my Christian name on your lips.”

Madej turns sharply, collapsing on his leg, and limps down an unknown hall.

Ryan alternates between watching Madej depart and tracing the murderer’s even slower progress down a second hall.

“All’s well,” the murderer assures himself. 

“Blood of Christ,” Ryan swears, and he follows his assailant into the dark. “Sir? What is your game?”

“‘Tis no game,” the murderer groans. “You are in the presence of one of the greatest scientific minds of history.”

“...right,” Ryan says. “Then what be your goal?”

“I will heal myself,” the murderer explains. “You recall how you stabbed me?”

“I wondered if you remembered that event, given the friendly nature of your speech.”

“Yet you make no further strike against me. ‘Twas justified. I would have had your life.” He tosses Ryan a look that took his measure. “Such a specimen.” 

“BERGARA?”

Sweet mother Mary, that faint cry fills Ryan with such relief. “OVER HERE!”

“THANK FUCK.” 

Ryan huffs a breath that's half-laugh and half-sob. “Thank fuck indeed.”

The slap of leather against stone raises to a cacophony, and Ryan feels the first sense of peace this evening.

“You absolute moron,” Sir Kornfield greets him as soon as he rounds the corner. “Ew. What is that?”

“I’m the Envoy of Life!” the murderer protests. 

“Are you just watching him crawl?” Dame Ruggirello says. “Kinda weird, man.”

“He attempted my murder,” Ryan retorts. “I’m not going to aid him.”

“You could kill him,” Dame Ransome snorts. “Is it too late for that? Has the heat of battle left?”

“I thought I’d figure out what he’s up to,” Ryan shrugs. “He’s convinced he’s going to heal himself.”

“You all go figure out what the fellow is up to,” Sir Kornfield says. “I require a word with Sir Bergara.”

Ryan cocks his head. “What words would you have with me?”

“They are not words intended for the general public.”

“Wow, okay then,” Sir Fulmer says. “I guess we shall be on our way.”

“Should we drag him?” Dame Chirico asks. “Else our retreat shall be much delayed. Besides, in shared presence, we shall perhaps allay any, ahem, booby traps?” Her wide grin is visible from under her helm. 

“I hate how much sense that makes,” Dame Ruggirello says. “It physically pains me. Alright, murderer, to your feet.” She hauls the yammering murderer upright and Sir Inthavong quickly moves to support his other side. “Onward!”

Ryan awaits their departure before turning to Sir Kornfield. “What news--ow!” 

Kornfield mercilessly smacks Ryan’s helm while Ryan dances an honorable retreat. “What the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you?”

“What?” Ryan protests, blocking the next blow.

“Opportunity of a lifetime,” Sir Kornfield rants. “You had your guy as a literal damsel in distress, and you took that opportunity, set it aflame, and threw its ashes into the deep sea.”

“You do not know that which--”

“Oh, don’t you say I don’t know that which is obvious. You were afflicted with love and attempted to draw it out by force!”

“I did not love.”

“Did you not?”

“He had some manner of enchantment o’er my eyes.”

“Bergara,” Sir Kornfield groans. “You beautiful dumbass. Were you so scared of your heart?”

“How do I know ‘tis my heart? No part of who he is has moved me thus.”

Sir Kornfield consults his hand with his forehead. “I’ll ask two questions.”

“By your leave.”

“Firstly, under the influence of enchantment or spell, would you be able to ruminate the possibility of your being controlled?”

“Perchance not while during, but certainty during the aftermath.”

“Fair, fair.” Sir Kornfield drops his hand and stares Ryan down. “In the said aftermath, how would you feel knowing that his heart is indubitably broken and, fighting tears, your man alerted the remaining knights before sprinting back to the castle?”

Ryan winces, and the flaming “What if?” debate he’s been waging since first seeing Madej strapped to the butcher’s table becomes a passing footnote in his mind. 

“Very ugly crier,” Sir Kornfield says. “I don’t believe the fellow partakes in emotions regularly. He seemed hit particularly hard.”

“You can aim words to me without denigrating his hurt,” Ryan glowers. “Would you a decent man be.”

“See, that’s the thing, Sir Bergara. We all thought you to be a decent man. Ever since his majesty brought Madej to Limgdom, the man has squirreled away inside of the Hall of Records, where he would not be breached. Not one of us was successful in gaining his acquaintance. But you...you found the secret was not in allyship, but antagonisms. He responded to you.”

“I intended him no kindness. He took my mother’s position.”

“Bergara,” Sir Kornfield barks. “Your mother is happily documenting the court dogs.”

“Yes! Substantially less prestigious!”

“And substantially happier for it!” Sir Kornfield rubs his brow. “I never took you for one to partake in court gossip.”

“What gossip?”

“About Madej laying charm on King Steven, being the son of a witch, about his appetite for blood, his transformations into demonic form, about--”

“ _Oh_.” Ryan sucks in a breath. “Yeah, he mentioned something of gossip, but I thought it was like, you know…” He meekly makes a fist with his right hand and inserts his left index finger, "...the of the usual variety?”

Sir Kornfield sighs. “You aren’t deserving of a second chance. The man communicated his insecurities with you, and you first ignored them, then threw them in his face? You fucked it up to an impressive extent.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Ryan says. “I do. It just, it happened so fast, and then he was here--”

“You’re going to go and apologize to him. And then you’re going to work through your shit on your own so that poor pasty boy isn’t dragged through any more of it.”

Any further protests Ryan might have made are silenced by bellows echoing down the hall. Ryan and Sir Kornfield draw their swords and, without hesitation, sprint towards the shouts.

“It’s in the air!” Sir Inthavong gasps, and Ryan doesn’t falter step as he sweeps his half-cape up to his mouth and dashes into a chamber liberally littered with parchment. The murderer, no longer bleeding copiously and now waving a club, turns on them with wild eyes.

Ryan charges past Sir Fulmer, who is currently bracing himself on the wall, leaps over Dame Ransome, and slices deep into the villan's throat. He dances back, pulling Dame Ransome upright and toward the exit. The butcher’s gurgling gasps perforate the room.

“We need to get them to fresh air,” Sir Kornfield says. He’s taken Sir Fulmer and Dame Chirico’s sides and leads them away from the smoky contents of the butcher’s lair.

“Has the captain been signaled?” Ryan demands.

“Yea.”

They don’t fully evacuate the knights; whatever effect the murderer had released in his final moments holds fast over their consciousness and it's simply not feasible to drag six knights back to the street. Sir Kornfield goes to mark the entrance of the tunnel while Ryan sits with his unanimated comrades and tries to process the extent of the murderer’s scheme. There are missing pieces still and they won’t be getting responses from his corpse, but it’s obvious to Ryan that this man has acted beyond mortal means. 

It is nearly ten minutes before Sir Kornfield returns with a half dozen knights to transport bodies back into the castle. Then, naturally, they begin the investigation into what had transpired in the abandoned prison. A series of tunnels spiral up to the lower town from the halls of the old prisons. Perhaps, in hindsight, those who had turned up dead in their homes had been snatched from their front door. The murderer had multiple stations throughout the old prison for his terrible surgeries, all details of which were meticulously logged on parchment under the pseudonym, “The Envoyer of Life.”

By the time dawn starts to crest, Captain LeBlanc pulls Ryan aside. “Go rest, Sir Bergara.”

Ryan doesn’t argue. He retrieves his pail of water and uses it to wash his face and hands as best he can, then he traipses wearily back up to the castle and straight to the kitchens. 

“You just in from the lower village?” the cook asks. “Any more deaths, Sir Bergara?”

“Only that of the culprit,” Ryan says. “Now, if I may, could I ask a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“The Court Historian has food delivered to his chambers, does he not?”

Williams raises a brow. “And you’d like delivery as well, is that it?”

“No, not...I was thinking may I could run him his food this morning? I need a word with him, and I do not know whether he would accept me without food. Forsooth, I do not know if he will accept me with food.”

“Ah,” the cook says knowledgeably. 

“Do you know of any of his favorites?”

“He likes his hot cereal,” Williams says. “Without ornament.”

Ryan’s lip curls before he can think better of it. Hot cereal is the standard campfire breakfast. Castle fare is usually a fine display of bread and eggs. “Would it be possible that I carry it to him?”

“Go on then,” Williams shrugs. “I’ll let Alvin know.”

“Thank you,” Ryan says. He snatches a tray from the stack by the wall and makes to grab the bowl.

“You’ve got to heat the bowl first,” Williams says. “Otherwise it’ll be cold.”

“Right. Uh, how do I do that?”

Williams sighs as though Ryan were personably responsible for every blue-grey hair on her head. She ladles hot water into Ryan’s bowl, waits for a few seconds, then pours it back into the pot and scoops in porridge. 

Ryan races out of the kitchen with the breakfast tray, but slows his approach to Madej’s room with every step he takes until he’s paused outside the Hall of Records. Madej is either nursing broken trust or hardening his heart to Ryan. Or, the lurking sinister thought in the back of Ryan’s mind posits, _perhaps he’s a murderous creature waiting for the perfect opportunity to do you in._

No. Ryan’s done giving credence to his suspicions. He pushes open the doors and makes full strides to the rear of the Hall of Records. Madej’s chamber door is shut. Ryan raps on it and fights the urge to turn tail and run. There is no response. Ryan knocks again.

“Just...would you just leave it on the table, please?” Madej calls in a voice fragile with grief, and Ryan’s heart revolts in his chest.

“No,” Ryan says. 

There’s an audible sniff. “So you’ve come to arrest me.”

“I’ve come to apologize.”

“Then you’ve come in vain.”

“I do have your breakfast.”

“Fantastic. Leave it on the table. I’ll come to it when I like.”

“I, uh, worry about pests,” Ryan says.

“I worry about a certain pest,” Madej retorts. 

“Can I see you?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“I have no wish to see or be seen by the likes of you.”

“Would you have me apologize to a door?”

“I would have you apologize not at all. Make no effort on restoring what could have been; it has already been blackened beyond repair.”

“You are giving me nothing to work with.”

“Do not think it without intention. I am simply repaying the favor.”

“Fine,” Ryan huffs. “I’ll apologize to the door, then.”

Madej is silent, which Ryan can only assume is an improvement from the earlier protests.

“Yesterday, I found myself in hitherto unknown acceleration, in a gravitation that was, for myself, of an alarming rate. And after consideration upon the teasings of my peers, I found myself perplexed as to the cause. Your features are becoming, yet forsooth in the manner of a rat. Your mannerisms, appalling. Your critiques, small-minded.”

“When, pray tell, do you commence with the apology?” Madej snorts.

“I’m working up to it,” Ryan grumbles. “Hush.”

“As far as I can attest, you are layering me with insult in preparation to be vehicle to blame.”

“Hush!” Ryan insists. “Anyways, such doubt already in mind, I was shaken to make your acquaintance in the old prisons. It seemed piece and part of a terrible plot. My original doubts, confirmed, I was hesitant to see you as friend.”

“Oh, was that what was happening there?” Madej laughs coldly. “I couldn’t tell!”

“And then, when you had no rhyme or reason to offer for your presence, my cynicism wrought the best of me.”

“Your...no. Absolutely not. Sir Bergara, I had expressed, _multiple times over_ , my concern with your battling an assailant with a torch and a pail. I had attempted to reach you under the cover of the night to serve as a voice of reason. _I risked my life to protect you_ , and I had neither hesitation nor regret. And you--”

“Yeah, I get that now,” Ryan says. “Sir Kornfield alerted me to your involvement. And I have to share my thanks. The murderer had plans yet. Half the knights are currently laid out from the effect of toxic air he released in his chamber. Had the other knights not arrived, there is a chance that I would be sans liver.”

There are a series of heavy steps, and then the door slams open. Madej looks Ryan over with frantic red eyes. “You idiot.”

Ryan smiles weakly back at him. “So seems the theme of tonight.” He offers Madej the tray and does his best to maintain eye contact. “You’re not uncovering anything new.”

Madej’s mouth twitches. “Your apology could do with more work.”

Ryan bites his lip. “You wanna teach me?” He attempts that conspiratorial one-eyed blink that Madej favors. 

“Smooth,” Madej says.

“Effective?”

“That remains to be seen.” Madej worries his lip and gives Ryan a full up-and-down glance. “Go clean up. You look disgusting.”

“I just got in,” Ryan says. “I wanted you to know that I am aware I’ve done you wrong, and uh, you know, I’m going to follow your lead on how to proceed, but it would suit me well should we not become entirely estranged.”

Madej takes a step closer and takes the tray. “You’re going to go scrub down, and then, if you’re willing to work for it, you can come back and we’ll see if you can improve that apology.” By the final words, his mouth in Ryan’s ear and his beard is tickling his face.

“I’m pretty hard-working,” Ryan assures him. 

Madej snorts in his ear and pushes him back with a hand splayed over his chest. “ _Go_.”

Ryan scampers.

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, quick FYI, Shane's science was tremendously out of date, so, uh, don't use this fanfic as a source on your homework, please and thank you!


End file.
